Memoirs of Hate
by Cynical Chaos
Summary: A sneak peek into a legendary Hell King's thoughts.
1. Default Chapter

Memoirs of Hate

_Where Seras Discovers Something Interesting About Her Master_

_Alucard And His Past_

_Thoughts Of Life From A Demon Made Human_

by Cynical Chaos

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't care.

Sadly, no dedication this time around. Oh well.

The book lays on the table. Both the book and the table are old, sturdy and quite weathered. And by _weathered,_ it comes to mean that the table is of an old, old style that wass new five hundred years ago, having that air of refined age that only truly old antiques can have. The book is a massive tome, bound in cracked, flaking leather. That pages are parchment that somehow survived the ravages of time, they are smooth to the touch and do not disintegrate at the slightest touch. Seras Victoria, agent of Hellsing, vampire and Servant-Daughter of Alucard wondered just why on the bloodied earth this table and this book were kept deep underground, far deeper than even her or her master's coffins, and surrounded by a mixture of black magicks and blessed steel chains. Though deliberately designed to keep vampires at bay, the casters of the magicks had forgotten one small item - vampires could assume a gaseous form that allowed access to a room through the small cracks that inevitably existed. It had simply taken her an hour to find those cracks. And while she didn't have even a fraction of the power her master had, she couldn't take animal form, she had no familiars and little knowledge of the arcane, she was growing. Slowly with all the dead blood she consumed, but growth it was.

So. Here she is in a room that has a single door so heavily enchanted by both the power of light and shadow that even beyond it's area of effect it still made the small hairs on her arms raise, and the only thing it stores is an ancient table and an equally ancient book. To speak of disappointments...

Well, she couldn't just leave with the book unread. That would be almost, well, _rude._ To have come this way and do nothing? So she steeled herself against the chills she was getting from the wards and walked forward to the book and it's stand. What she read when she opened it startled her.

"_So I am finally free. After years that I have stopped counting, years spent experiencing ritual after ritual of dark magick, infusions of blood enhanced by pain and torture, and the summoning and subsequent binding of a most strange being made entirely of blood; I am finally free. Bound though free. Such a fine irony of the humans, a final gift, so to speak, that they release into the enchanted chains of most holy silver_, _a dank and putrid cell sealed with a circle made of my own blood ... Well I am once again alone, with only my thoughts to give me comfort. So wonderous. These creatures that have sealed me I, strangely I bear them no ill will. None that will last longer than it takes to bathe in the blood of every last one of them that is. I am after all, a vampire and it often amuses me to be true to this bloody nature of mine. If one is given a gift should he not open it and experience it to the fullest? And such is the nature of the gift that I have been given so that I have all of eternity to experience every nuance of it. Haaaaah, yes, eternity. Stuck in a filthy cell that not even the Turks would place a man in. Not unless his execution was scheduled for tomorrow. Hmm. Perhaps finally something to think about then. No, that s a line of thought not worth considering. Perhaps then the exploration of my new and most humble abode? Perhaps there is a opening? A weakness in the construction of the spells and this horrid piece of cloth that they placed about me? _

And so it went on, this diary, for it was indeed her _master's_ diary that she was reading, detailing the various spells he had attempted to free himself. Spells that had inevitably failed to penetrate the wards and did nothing more than exhaust him, withering his body away into a desiccated corpse. A corpse that did nothing but dry and wither until the passing of two decades and the fateful occurrence that resulted in his resurrection and promise of fealty to his current master, Integra Wingates Hellsing.

Seras stepped away from the book, a frown creasing her forehead. It was fascinating to read the history of her master, but ultimately boring. But she had started at the middle of the great tome. If she were to...

The hair on the back of her neck and on her arms spiked suddenly as she felt a familiar sensation of cold, remorseless power sweep over her. It was Alucard come to check his life history.

Okay, all. This little sucker was written was to early in the morning so it's off to bed for poor ole me and a hearty farewell from The Cynic.

Until, perhaps, tomorrow, I am,

The Cynic Signing Out.


	2. Insight to a Splintered Mind

Author's Notes: I realize that I have been remiss in giving my readers an insight into this fractured mess of ordered chaos that I call my ground state of existence. My sincerest apologies, followed with this simple fact: I am going to be making Alucard into a being that I think most befits his character shown both in the manga, the anime and in the actions of the historical being known simply as "The Impaler." Some of you will no doubt be displeased with either Alucard's actions, thoughts or the things he says or the manner in which he says them. But please remember, this is simply the way that I view him and that the way I view him is the way I will write him. The excuses and bull-shitting made, let's get on with the story shall we?

Disclaimer: I hate writing this thing and I still don't own anyone of anything.

Credits: Something new, for the credit for this chapter rests solely in BigW's most capable arms. Or hands. Or fingers, him being a writer and all. Thank him for giving me the inspiration for writing this beast by sending a few favorable reviews his way, alright?

Memoirs of Hate

Insight to a Splintered Mind

_Alucard's Good Mood_

_Seras Panics_

_A New Entry_

_The Price of Curiosity_

Alucard was in a good mood. For an undead, even a king, this was an event that is, historically, heralded by meteors and the fall of kingdoms. When one is dead, one sees emotions and feelings as relics of one's past life. Or past existence, though the difference between the two was a trifling that the Lord of Transylvania and Unholy King didn't concern himself with. No, he and his mind, which can often be two separate entities, were concerned with the intruder into the warded vault that Alucard had crafted some years ago. Crafted using the charm and authority that only centuries of practice can generate. Crafted using the sweat and toil and even blood of those who had dared to imprison him. But the past is past and though it may be argued that undead, even sentient ones like vampires, are only capable of existing in the past, Alucard was most definitely looking forward for the encounter with the, rather, _his_ intruder. For this intruder had entered into a lair that was as sacred as it could get being in the ownership of a vampire. And having interfered with an object that was as treasured to Alucard as his Jackal and Casull, one could almost count the intruder's heartbeats in Alucard's measured strides. Or perhaps the spaces between would be more appropriate. But this was not to be. Alucard was in a _good _mood. Not enraged or hungry. He wasn't after blood, though unless Seras Victoria came up with an excellent excuse as to her presence in a place that had, in effect, screamed "Do Not Enter" through its wards, well, she was dead, and his child after all. He would have to be inventive with a punishment. Unless she escaped. He smiled.

There are many types of smiles. The one given by Alucard is one that is only given by a rabid dog that has just cornered a small defenseless child or a religious fanatic that has a bomb strapped to his chest and has just received news of an infidel's approach. It was a smile that did not relish the act of killing. It relished the _opportunity_ of killing. That said, it was a smile that many a fool had seen behind the hand holding the Jackal.

Seras Victoria was in a fine state. She was an alchemical mixture of dread, exhilaration, panic and worry. Dread at the sound of her master's footsteps. Exhilaration at being forced to think of a fast exit. Panic at being caught. Worry at the knowledge that fast exits were out of the question because panic, exhilaration and dread had made her forget how to exit the room in her gaseous form. But first things first: leave the scene of the crime in the state she had found it. She closed the book and found her mind slipping into what two years of special force police training had taught her: police mode. Assess the exits. That was easy, there was only one, it was locked tight, and the only one with the key would possibly kill her if he caught her here. Prepare for the use of force. She didn't have her Halconnen, not that the bloody huge thing would fit in this room anyway. And just how would she use it? Shoot her master? All that would do is insult him. And even if she did succeed in wounding him, she would barely have enough time to turn around before his Casull pierced her lung. Again. If she survived_ that_, then she would most definitely be banished by Lord Hellsing.

By the time these thoughts were ricocheting through her mind, her master's footstep were so ominously close to the door that her mind had supplied, along with many unwanted scenarios of her death, a soundtrack that had a lot of organ music that was slowly building to a climax that, she was sure, ended with on the sound of a bullet being fired. So she flushed all the unwanted emotions and focused solely on panic. Panic which drove her to do what humans, alive, dead or otherwise, do best: she took a longshot, bet it all, and hoped the card she was holding was the ace of spades. She assumed gaseous form and fled for the back wall.

When one is feeling good, one does not wish for this feeling to leave. But let's leave the human emotions behind. Alucard, staring at the door which held an object that might be considered to be humanity's greatest weapon against him, was amused. He had clearly felt the police girl's departure from this sanctum where he kept his memories. And as he absent-mindedly traced her flight from the room his thoughts turned to the situation he faced.

'_A troublesome, meddling girl she is_, _but I can do naught but admire her for her determination in finding a way around my wards. Though she did lose her composure in these last few moments. Haaah, something to cure her of. Another in a long line of 'somethings'. If it isn't her insistence on remaining at least nominally human, then it is her unrelenting inability to see just what she is and to act accordingly. Of course she must be disciplined. What shall I do to her? Curiosity may have killed the cat, but she is already dead. This is beginning to sound like a play. Prelude: The Police Girl discovers a new strength. Act 1: A Hidden Treasure, Act 2: The Master Approaches. And Act 3? Perhaps that shall be called "Banishment."'_

Alucard frowned. None of the wards had been altered. He was, of course, still considering the door. Nor was there any sign of force, not that there could be in the first place. The door was old oak taken from a church in Scotland and it's blessing still held. And besides, it was several inches thick. The alternating iron bands and silver rivets which bond the door to the walls surrounding it were, respectively, two inches thick and the size of a child's fist. The actual wards themselves were scrawling whorls of geometric shapes and ancient runes; burning the wood black and staining the metal red. Everything was in place and unaltered, there was no other door so...?

But of course. He was being foolish. This was after all, his old cell and there were many vents both inside and outside of it. The one's inside had been sealed though there was no doubt that, in his mind, a vampire having taken the form of gas could find a way in. There would be cracks of course. There were always cracks. Which is why he had drained the room of its oxygen so that even if someone were to get by the warded door, to open the door would result in the vacuumed room sucking in any matter so violently that the room itself and the surrounding walls and two floors above would come crashing down. The _inside_ of the room had been laid with spells that would slay any living being that walked its floors. Alucard had never thought to ward it against undead though. Any vampire that came into the Hellsing manor would be dispatched quickly and remorselessly and ghouls were far to stupid to achieve the feats of magic that it would take to dispel the wardings. It had simply never occurred to Alucard that he might make for himself a daughter and that his daughter would be accepted as a vampire hunter in the service of the Hellsing Agency.

Alucard reformed in the room, inside the wards of his own making, unaffected by those that resided in the room proper. He looked at the book. His book. The vault that contained every instance that had happened to him ever since his identity, and thus his power, had been stolen from him. It was true that he enjoyed his lifestyle now, limited though he was, but on the other hand he could kill as much as he pleased so long as what died wasn't human. Or so long as it died with its consent. His life, as such, was good. Free food, no mobs with stakes, strands of garlic and babbling priests, the chance to stay out of the sun and bathe in the moon's embrace. And yet he had kept something of himself for himself, away from his master and away from those who would control him. He had lost his name, but he had not lost himself.

Perhaps..? Yes, it was indeed time to shake the little police girl up. Time for her to acknowledge her heritage and to accept the power that was rightly hers.

Alucard opened his book of memories, turned to the last page and made an entry.


	3. Aspects of Corruption

A/N: And now, finale. To Nalarava the Red's glee, no doubt.

And yet again, give him his props folks. The Big W's reviews have given me the inspiration to go on. And, yet again, his reviews are the only ones that actually involve themselves in this story. If ya'll what to see this sucker go a specific way, tell me so I can ignore you.

But really W, a symbiont? Give me a little credit. I'm at least a parasite.

And those who are wondering, yes this is yet another of my 5 am fantasies that chaotically spew themselves via my fingers onto paper. And yet I retain enough sense to offer this little tidbit: look for your bit in this fic, W.

Memoirs of Hate

_Aspects of Corruption_

_A Confrontation_

_An Ending_

_The writing is fresh and disturbingly blood-like to Seras' sensitive eyes. Eyes, which are technically dead, view the world differently. The moon is always a dark reddish yellow, the horizon is the color of her food and the shadows are always very, very long. Long like the fingers of the dead and dammed, reaching out to touch her. With such vision, the young vampiress, though she hated to think of herself like that, didn't need candles or any source of light. Besides, if it was too bright then she would be blinded or, worse, hurt by it._ _Light wasn't needed in large quantities for Seras Victoria to read by. And so here she was, once again pursuing what seemed, in her more lucid and often panicked state of mind, to be a suicidal course of action. To have sneaked into this room for two days straight, especially after nearly being caught by her master that last time! But he hadn't sought her out, no one had said anything to her about this and she simply felt more driven to read the rest of this book. So when she had arrived she had found the book lying open to a place past the latest writings. She went on alert immediately when she had seen the state of the book. But no on was there. It was just her, the book and the wards tingling ominously behind her. And she still felt an unmistakable sense of wariness permeating her body._ _A body which cooled into a cold sweat as soon as she worked up the nerve to step close enough to the book to read what was so freshly and disturbingly written. It was eight simple words._

Come to me, police girl. Claim your birthright.

_She never even felt the whisper cold of her master's power being worked behind her. His words, in that chilling and gleefully malicious voice, shocked her from her reverie about the meaning of the writing._

"So you came back little one."

_She turned. It was all she could trust herself to do, and she didn't even want to do that. As she stared into Alucard's strange yellow-red eyes, her voice trembled, no, squeaked out the one word that had been imprinted on her from the hour of her rebirth:_

"M-Master.."

_His smile was mirthless, an antithesis to the glee in his voice._

"You have heard of this cliche, haven't you? 'Curiosity has killed the cat?'"

_His smile widened._

"But you're already dead. What is to be done with you? Shall I exile you? Banish from your home into the world of the sun, that you may wander under it's light and burn until you find the power to resist it?"

_His smile turned a shade cynical, then sardonic._

"No, I cannot do that to my own daughter, my own flesh and blood that I, myself, gave birth to. And I dare not kill you. You are far too well liked around this place. You would inevitably be missed. Eventually."

_His smile dissipated into a frown._

"Well? What say you child?"

_Her head was hanging low, almost as low as she felt. She had failed her master. He was disappointed by her. He wanted to punish her - and rightly so. But she spoke up. What she would say would probably startle him. He was, of course, expecting a meek apology._

"M-Master? I- What did you mean? My birthright? What is that?"

_Alucard's eyes widened. Though not in surprise. Glee yes, surprise no. His mouth curved into a wide smile that displayed his fangs prominently._

_Seras was dead. She knew that. He, her master, was going to kill her, and that would be that. She flinched, or tried to, as her master placed his hand on her head. 'So he's going to crush my skull,' came the morbid thought. 'At least I won't feel anything'_

_Her head was being lifted, then forced back until all she could see was her master's face. He was still grinning, though that didn't give her any measure of comfort. Then his other hand came up and rested on her face, sliding down until it rested on her lips. His thumb and forefinger slid between her lips and gently pried her mouth open. Still holding her mouth open, he brought the hand that had previously held her head to his mouth. His fangs made quick work of slicing open the ulnar artery on his wrist. He held his bleeding wrist to her mouth._

"To claim your birthright, your blood right, you must drink from your master's blood. To claim your power, you must make this choice."

_Her lips closed around the wound. His voice sounded through her ears._

"Remember. It is your choice."


	4. Reminiscent of Memoirs

Reminiscent Of Memoirs

A/N: Okay, this is the first time that I've actually replied to the nice people who have reviewed my stuff.

So first off, Big W: I will always value your reviews. While not exactly a 'guiding light in the darkness', as those usually turn out to be the pilot lights for a flamethrower, your reviews put my work into a sort of reference frame.

The ulnar artery is the big artery in your wrist. You know, the one you slash when you're committing a cutter's suicide. The sensual part wasn't really deliberate, it just popped in there. Though in hindsight, the 'sex' part makes a bit of sense. Think about it, the whole turning of a human into a vampire through the draining of blood through the jugular artery and the infusion of vampire blood? It's a deliberate perversion of kissing and, if you think about it, sex. I had originally intended this fic to give insight into Alucard's thoughts and his past and then my brain got to thinking and my fingers took over. It happens.

Lady Raylen: I hope I spelled your name right. Alucard is supposed to be old. In my opinion, anyone who writes him as otherwise needs to spell the name Dracula backwards and do a lot of research into the background of Vladimir the IV also called Dracula the son of Drakul, fourth emperor of Transylvania and scourge of the Turks.

And while I hadn't intended for you to be on the edge of your seat, I'm quite pleased that this made you do so. At least something I do works.

Nalarava the Red: The cliffhanger was appropriate in my mind. I mean, it's almost the exact same way that Hellsing the anime ended. A huge opening there for interpretation. So I thought that this little contribution of mine should fit into the mold.

Silk Hope: Yes I do enjoy messing with the minds of my reader's. It's just one of the few pleasures I can get from being a wrtier.

All this is said for everyone who's given at least some effort in guiding me and my work. The rest you should either join up, sign in or just try to help out your favorite authors.

My final closing note: no I did not watch the anime a hundred times to study for the creation of this fic, I didn't read all the Hellsing fic, research the Impaler nor read loads of vampire lore. I did that quite a few months ago and it all just stuck in my head. Things do that. No I will not continue with this fic. It's all done. I just wrote this bit to thank everyone who reviewed in a manner that I felt was helpful and not just "you will update or die."


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